Hidden Affections (19 page)

“Why did he stop?”

“Peale’s sons weren’t as interested in keeping the museum open as much as their father was. They had other interests and still do, one of which is a museum in Baltimore.”

“Why didn’t you stop your donation?” she asked, surprised that he would be interested in anything like a museum.

He chuckled. “In all truth, I didn’t even realize I was still a donor until the invitation arrived, which is usually how I find out that the annual donations my father set up are still in place.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Now that that’s settled, there’s something else we need to discuss. Privately,” he said with a wink.

She nodded and walked upstairs with him to the sleeping room they were supposed to be sharing. He raked his fingers through his hair as he crossed the room and plopped down into one of the two chairs that were still sitting where she had put them the day before. “Irene knows that I’m sleeping in the library instead of here with you, and she knows I ordered the warming stove because it’s too cold in there for me to get any sleep.”

Annabelle’s heart skipped a beat, and she sat down across from him. “Are you certain?”

“She told me so herself. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to speak to you privately about it.”

“What did you tell her?” she asked, hoping he had been able to charm the housekeeper into thinking she was wrong.

“I didn’t tell her anything. Fortunately, I was searching all over for you and used that as an excuse to escape. I could fend her off like I usually do, but now that you’ve become so friendly with her, she’s bound to mention it to you,” he said derisively. “What are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered and pressed her fingertips to her forehead to ease the dull ache that had started wrapping around her head. She closed her eyes for a moment and rejected one excuse after another to explain why Harrison was not sleeping in the same bed with her until she found one that Irene was likely to accept.

She opened her eyes and offered him a weak smile. “I think I know a way to make certain Irene won’t bring up the matter again.”

He sat up a little straighter. “You do?”

She nodded. “How would you feel about being labeled a brute? I promise I won’t make you out to be an awful brute. Just a small one, and all I have to do is stretch the truth a bit.”

Annabelle survived the event at the museum unscathed, just as Harrison had promised she would. Over the course of the next two days, she even survived another evening affair without seeing Vienna or Eric. But her anticipation grew worse by the hour while she waited for Irene to confront her about the unusual sleeping arrangements she and Harrison shared.

Since the topic had not come up while she sat with Irene outside on the bench feeding the squirrel this morning, she returned to the cottage with the housekeeper ready to bring it up herself once they finished with today’s lesson. She sat down at the kitchen table and handed the slate and chalk to Irene. “Before we start on any new letters, you should practice what you’ve already learned,” she prompted.

Irene was forming letters less awkwardly than when she had first begun, but she set the chalk down now before she finished the first two letters. “I can’t do it.”

Annabelle smiled. “Of course you can. Try again.”

“No, I mean I can’t do it. I can’t hold my tongue a second longer.” She took Annabelle’s hand. “I don’t know why Harrison has left your bed, but bless your loving heart, you’ve been keeping your hurt all to yourself. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Now that the moment she had been dreading had arrived, Annabelle accepted the guilt she deserved for the partial lie she was about to tell. “He hasn’t left my bed. He’s just not sleeping with me all night.” She hoped the woman would assume the blush that warmed her cheeks was due to the suggestive nature of her words rather than the tale she was going to spin that had only a bit of truth to it.

Irene’s eyes opened wide. “Why not?”

“He’s afraid he’ll be embarrassed. Do you . . . do you remember when I first came here, and I had that fading bruise on my eye?”

“I remember. I heard that one of those robbers did that to you,” she replied and narrowed her gaze. “If Harrison took a hand to you—”

“He did, but perfectly by accident. He didn’t mean to hit me, but . . . but I suppose he’s been sleeping alone for so long, he’s not accustomed to sharing his bed,” she gushed. “He’s rather a restless sleeper and he struck me with his elbow. It wasn’t the first time he’d accidently jabbed me, but he’d never blackened my eye before. He’s determined to make it the last, which is why he sleeps in the library, although we’re both hoping that it won’t be for long.”

She paused for a moment and tightened her hold on Irene’s hand just a bit more. “I hope you understand why he didn’t mention it to you before now or why he didn’t explain himself when you confronted him about it. He’s quite embarrassed as it is, which is why I promised him that I’d explain everything to you so you wouldn’t ask him any more about it. I’m sorry. I should have told you about it long before now.”

Irene shook her head. “I never thought I’d live long enough to see him embarrassed about anything, but I suppose I’ll have to get used to the idea he’s a changed man now that he’s married to you.” She touched Annabelle’s shoulder. “I won’t say another word about it. Now let’s get back to my lesson, or we won’t have time for you to show me a new recipe today,” she said, then erased the slate and handed the chalk to Annabelle.

“How has he changed?” she asked as she shaped the letter
P
.

“You’ll see what I’m talking about next Sunday,” she replied.

Irene remained mum on the subject, and Annabelle tried to be satisfied that she had finally done what she had promised Harrison she could do.

Several hours later, Annabelle had the first real surprise of the day when Harrison dropped her off at the Refuge and told her to hire a hack to go home because he had errands to do that would keep him busy until very late tonight. Her second surprise came only moments later when she found Philip waiting for her outside of the director’s office when she walked into the Refuge.

“I heard about the work you’re doing here and had to see it for myself,” he explained.

“You heard? From whom?” She doubted that anyone beyond the Refuge itself even knew she had been volunteering here—other than Harrison, of course, since this was only her third day here.

“I have developed many reliable sources of information, particularly where you’re concerned.”

When she frowned, he held up his hand. “Most of it is good.”

“But not all,” she ventured.

“Sooner or later, the gossipmongers will find someone else to focus on, and Vienna Biddle will find another man to chase.”

“I hope I’m alive to see it,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “Remind me to tell you a bit more about Miss Biddle later. For now, let’s join the women staying here so you can show me the impressive work you’ve done.”

“I haven’t done much of anything so far, other than to use Harrison’s money to purchase what these women need to help themselves.”

He offered her his arm. “It seems we have even more in common than my cousin. That’s precisely what I do, although I’m fairly good at attracting donations from men and women who aren’t my relatives,” he said and opened the dormitory door.

Prepared to spend a few very cold hours here, she walked into the dormitory with him. Although the room was far from being as warm as any of the rooms back at Graymoor Gardens, it was remarkably better than it had been yesterday, and she saw the reason why. In addition to a large stack of firewood along the far wall, there was a blazing fire in the massive fireplace, which warmed the women who were sitting in a circle and chatting while they were knitting.

She looked at Philip in amazement. “Did you arrange for the firewood here?”

“I wish I could say that I did, but it wasn’t necessary for me to do anything. My cousin took care of it personally, or so I’ve been told.”

She blinked hard. “Harrison?”

He smiled. “The last I checked, he was my only cousin. In truth, he’s shown little interest in the past about supporting anything that might be considered a philanthropic endeavor, but I must say he’s changed quite a bit since he married you.”

Annabelle frowned. “That’s the second time today someone’s said that to me.”

Certain that Harrison did not bother to tell her what he had done because he saw no need to impress her, she spent the next few hours in a knitting circle with the other women, admiring the work they were doing or showing them how to make a complicated stitch that was new to them. To her surprise, Philip sat right there with all of them, watching them work and occasionally joining in the conversation.

When it was time for her to return home, he escorted her outside and hailed down a hack for her. “When you have time, perhaps I could get your opinion on some ideas I have about improving conditions at several other institutions in the city,” he suggested as he helped her into the coach.

Anticipating another afternoon alone, since Harrison was otherwise occupied, she waved for him to get into the coach. “I have time today. Please join me for dinner. I’m certain Irene made more than enough,” she offered.

Philip needed no further persuasion and climbed into the coach. Before the wheels creaked and started rolling, she reminded him of his promise to tell her about Vienna Biddle, her voice just a whisper.

He leaned back against the cushion and pointed up to the roof. “It’s probably best if we wait until we’re back at Graymoor Gardens.”

She frowned but decided he was right. “Someday I’m going to live in a world where I don’t have to watch every word I say everywhere or anywhere I go with anyone,” she insisted as the coach reached a steady but bumpy rhythm.

“That world doesn’t exist, at least not here in this city. I’m afraid you’d have to leave to find it, if it even exists.”

Annabelle sighed. “Tell me about your ideas.”

Philip talked all the way home, through dinner, and most of the afternoon, which they spent in the parlor. The more he talked, the more she learned about his efforts here in Philadelphia as well as New York City and Boston. Deeply moved by his stories of the many people who struggled each day just to survive, she offered one silent prayer after another to thank God she had been spared a similar fate—and to ask for forgiveness for making a single complaint about her situation.

When Lotte returned with a second tray of black almond crescent cookies, Annabelle waited until she set the tray down on the serving table next to Philip before addressing her. “Thank you. Please tell Irene that Mr. Philip will be staying for supper, but we won’t need anything else until then,” she said, anxious to have the privacy necessary to discuss the one topic that mattered most to her.

“I won’t be able to eat a bite of supper if I keep nibbling at these.” He snatched up one of the delicate, sugar-crusted treats as the young girl took her leave.

“My mother always made those cookies last, after she finished making the other cookies she was baking for Christmas.” With only nine days left until the holiday she loved finally arrived, it would be the first time she celebrated Christmas without her mother. Her heart grew heavy.

“Why is that?” Philip polished off the cookie and reached for another.

“She knew we’d eat every last one before Christmas, and she’d have to bake another batch,” she murmured. Before Annabelle got lost in sad, sad thoughts that this Christmas would be far different than any she had had before, she changed the subject entirely. “Now that I’ve sweetened you up and I don’t expect any more interruptions, perhaps you could tell me more about Vienna Biddle, like you promised.”

Nodding, he swallowed the last bite and brushed the sugar from his fingers with a napkin he set back onto the table when he’d finished. “Vienna Biddle is twenty-six years old, and she’s reached an age where she’s considered to be an antique on the marriage market. At one time, she had four brothers who were considerably older than she was, but only two survived to adulthood. The oldest now is Charles. He’s been confined to a private asylum for many years, although the family has been able to convince most everyone he’s moved to Europe, where he’s pursuing a career as an artist. Her other brother, Gerald, left the city rather abruptly about six years ago and disappeared.”

“What happened to him?” she asked, half afraid of the answer he would give her.

He shrugged. “Gossipmongers claim he eloped with a serving wench who worked in a tavern along the wharf, but the family insists he joined up with a group of missionaries who set sail for China around the same time. I’ve never been able to verify either version to learn which is true.”

Annabelle’s heart, which she had hardened against the young woman, softened. “Poor Vienna. All she has left are her parents, who must be quite elderly by now.”

“Actually, her mother died shortly after Gerald left, so it’s only Vienna, her widowed father, who is nearly seventy, and a dwindling fortune she’s openly declared she’s going to replenish by marrying one.”

Annabelle dropped her gaze for a moment when she realized the hurt and pain she had seen in Vienna’s eyes were not there because she was still in love with Harrison. She was mourning the loss of something even more important to her: his money.

“Harrison isn’t the first man she’s chased and lost,” Philip offered.

Annabelle met his gaze again. “He isn’t?”